


The Road Less Traveled

by DaughterofElros



Series: What You Will of Me [9]
Category: Snow White and the Huntsman (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:27:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterofElros/pseuds/DaughterofElros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which plot is less than center stage</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road Less Traveled

In the morning, they donned their own clothes, shared another breakfast of honeyed porridge with Thom and Ida, and set out on their journey again. Their saddlebags were laden down with the gifts that their hosts pressed upon them- a loaf of bread and some apples, along with a small collection of the candles that Snow and Ida had made. They tried to refuse the gifts, feeling guilty for taking even this much more from those who had so little, but Thom and Ida insisted, and it had finally seemed better to acquiesce than to protest further.

They did not have far to go, as they only intended to reach the nearest river village on the day’s ride. Because of this, and because the sun was already beating down with a ferocity that suggested the day’s temperature would rise to an unseasonable just-below-sweltering, Eric elected to forgo the more direct road and take the alternate track which arced to the east and quickly entered into the shaded shelter of a small wood halfway up the hill. That route promised to add an extra couple of hours to their journey, but he thought the increased level of comfort would be well worth it.

The trees that they rode under were tall, with cool green leaves that fanned above them, providing a shade dappled with spots of sunlight that danced whenever a small breeze shifted the branches. The gap of several miles between this wood and the Dark Forest seemed to have been enough to stop the spread of the blight, as all of the trees they passed seemed healthy and unaffected.

Despite the shade, the air grew hotter as the sun beat down overhead. It was already warmer than the day before, as though summer were putting on final, valiant display of its own prowess before fading away toward autumn. His coat had already been stowed away with the rest of the packs. Now, as a concession to the heat, he shrugged off his vest as they rode, securing it with the strap of his saddle bag. Several minute later, Snow called a brief halt so that she could do the same, shedding her outer tunic so that her arms were left bare by the leather bodice and sleeveless shift she wore beneath. The look was nothing short of scandalous, particularly for a Queen, but as they were unlikely to meet anyone along this road, he said nothing on the matter. His silence certainly had nothing to do with his own personal enjoyment of the sight, nor with irritated look he knew she would send him if he did say something. It was merely the most practical option, or so he justified the decision to himself.

 In any case, whatever he might have said would likely have been thrown back at him with a series of unanswerable questions about why a woman should have to suffer discomfort for the sake of propriety when a man did not. He was no better equipped to handle those questions now than he had been when Sara and his sister-in-law had fired them at him years ago, nor when one particularly confident tavern wench had posed similar questions to him when he paid to bed her. If he was not prepared to argue the justifications for inequality of the sexes to his wife or even to a whore, he was not about to attempt to argue them with a Queen.

They stopped to rest the horses around midday, as the sun reached its zenith. Once they were a little way off the road, he realized that he could hear the sound of running water nearby and felt the urge to investigate. He justified it with the thought that it would be good to refill their waterskins and splash some water on their faces. Satisfied that the area was safe enough for the time being, he set off, instructing Snow to stay with the horses and unpack some of the food from the saddle bags while he explored.

The stream was not difficult to find. It was only a couple of minutes before he reached the place where the trees ended at its banks, leaving the sun to sparkle on its surface.  For most of its length, it was narrow enough to be crossed in two strides and shallow enough that the water would rise no higher than one’s knees. Ahead of him, though, the stream widened into a deeper pool, perhaps a dozen feet across, and ringed with wide, flat rocks. The water flowed in from a ledge about three feet above the surface, creating a miniature waterfall that was the source of the sound he had heard.

As he moved closer, he startled a heron wading along the opposite bank and watched as it took to the air, flapping its vast wings.  He knelt to fill the waterskins, then cupped his hands and splashed the captured water on his face. It was cool, and immensely refreshing.  The idea of jumping in to bathe fully crossed his mind, and he was sorely tempted. He had washed his hands and face in the basin at the farmhouse, but the combination of days on the road and work in the heat had left him feeling somewhat less than fresh. A quick dip in the water would go a long way toward correcting that.

Glancing around quickly, he made a decision and began unlacing his leather trousers. He shucked them off, along with his boots and left them laid out on the bank, followed a moment later by the shirt he yanked off over his head. He felt a flash of guilt for leaving Snow alone with the horses for a few minutes more, but reasoned that if she wanted a chance to bathe when he returned, he could watch their mounts in turn. Having thus reassured himself, he waded into the water until it reached his waist, then dove smoothly beneath the shining surface. He emerged a long moment later, shaking the water from his hair and giving a quiet sigh of happiness at the feel of the cool water on his heated flesh. He scooped a handful of sand and used it to scrub at his skin, scouring away the last vestiges of sweat and dirt, then ducked beneath the surface again to wash the sand away.

Beneath the water, the world was cool and silent, with only the sound of the running water echoing faintly in his ears. The birdsongs and rustling of branches were gone when he was submerged. It felt as though time slowed and ceased to pass for several seconds, until he placed his feet firmly on the ground again and stood, returning to the world of light and sound while water sluiced from the ends of his hair and lapped lazily around his waist.

The peace was shattered a moment later when he heard the soft snort of a horse further down the stream. He tensed and began to turn toward the sound, rapidly calculating his options, which were few. His knives and axes lay on the bank behind him with most of his clothing- they would do him little good there, and he cursed himself for being so careless and trusting. He began to come up with ways that he might try to talk himself out of whatever situation might emerge, and prayed that whoever this was had not already discovered the Queen. Even if they did not know who she was, the prospects for a woman discovered alone on the road were not good. It might even be worse if they thought her a normal girl. Any man, no matter how despicable, might hesitate at killing or raping a Queen, swayed by the prospect of ransom and riches. A normal girl had no such advantage.

Suddenly, something wet and viscous hit him squarely in the back. His hand went to it automatically, and he realized that it was nothing but wet sand that had been flung at him with fantastic aim. What sort of attacker would fling sand, he puzzled even as he turned toward the bank.

 

 

Snow had grown restless waiting with the horses. After several minutes, she made up her mind, shoved the apples and bread back into her saddle bag, and grabbed the horses reins, leading them both through the trees in the direction Eric had gone.

She stepped out of the forest along the stream at almost the exact same point that Eric had. She didn’t see him at first, but then noticed his clothing spread out on the bank. Either he had run afoul of a very peculiar bandit, or he had decided to shed his clothes for an afternoon swim. The idea appealed to her, as well, so she looped the reins over a low branch to keep the horses from wandering and began to make her way over to the bank where the Huntsman’s belongings lay.

She had nearly reached them when he resurfaced, and she was compelled to stop and watch him. He was facing away from her, but there was still plenty to be appreciative of. The water coursed over him, turning his hair dark and running in rivulets down his torso. His body was sculpted from years of hard work and rough living, the corded muscles in his arms and of his back rippling as he scrubbed at himself with sand from the stream bed. The sunlight glinted off the curve of those muscles, and highlighted the way the water dripping from his hair ran down his spine to the narrower point of his waist before disappearing beneath the white cloth of his linen underbreeches . She supposed he had left them on for modesty’s sake, but they did little to conceal the swell of flesh and muscle beneath, clinging to him like a second skin and accentuating the toned perfection of his body. She was riveted by the sight, and by the flush of longing that she experienced for him.

He had not seen her yet, and she was struck by a mischievous idea. Grinning in anticipation, she crept the rest of the distance to the bank, careful not to rustle the grasses or step on any stray twigs that would announce her presence. Silently, she eased out of her own boots and leggings, leaving them beside his, and unlaced the leather bodice she wore for support, leaving only her shift. She crouched, watching him and waiting for her opportunity.

When he ducked back under the water, she scrambled to the edge of the pool and waded in, letting the cool water rush over her toes. She plunged her hand into the water as well and pulled up a handful of wet sand. Her Huntsman broke the surface in a rush, sending little waves lapping toward the shore. He tensed suddenly, and started to turn- hastily, she fired her missile, which landed with a satisfying _plop_ in the middle of his back. She began to laugh, the sound of it echoing over the water. The expression on his face when he did turn and catch sight of her was beyond description, a mix of shock and fury and startled amusement that only caused her to laugh harder.

 

 

When he turned and saw Snow standing there in the shallows, with her shift dancing about her knees and the peals of her laughter ringing out across the stream, he was at once furious and relieved.

“I thought I told you to stay with the horses.” He growled, stalking toward her as quickly as the water allowed.

“I did!” she tried in vain not to smile, pointing to where she had left the beasts secured to the tree. Her mount lifted its head to look at them mildly, then returned to grazing unconcernedly, completely disinterested in the activities of the humans.

“That’s not at all what I meant, and you know it,” he reproached her. An internal debate seemed to be raging in him, until suddenly he scooped her up bodily and turned to head back into the water.

“Wait!” she exclaimed, squirming in his arms “What are you doing?”

“I am teaching you a lesson, Milady,” he told her with a false calm, “Which is that when I tell you to stay with the horses, or give you other instructions of the kind, I am doing so because I am concerned for your safety, not because it occurs to me that you should do the opposite. You seem to need the idea driven home.” So saying, he let her go, letting her plunge into the cool water with a shriek. He hauled her back up, supporting her until she regained her footing.

“Do you know how terrified I was when I heard that horse?” He demanded of her, gripping her roughly by the upper arm, almost shaking her in his fury. “Do you know the thoughts that went through my head? That someone was threatening your safety, that they might discover you, and hurt you, or take you with them for their profit or pleasure?” He could not hold back the anguish that was creeping into his voice. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, shaking his head. “I thought… I thought I might have lost you.”

“But you didn’t,” she murmured earnestly. “I’m right here.” And then she was sliding her hand up to his neck, drawing him down to her until her lips pressed reassuringly against his. The relief that she was safe, that he had not failed her, that she was here, alive and well in his arms was too much. It was as though a dam inside him cracked, and all the emotion he had for her came surging out. He poured all of it, the rawness and the desperation and hunger into the kiss, seizing her lips with his own and pulling her to him.

He wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her close and let the other tangle into her wet hair, tilting her head up so he could plunder her mouth. It was as though he were a drowning man, and her lips were the air he needed to breathe. He teased at her lower lip with his tongue; her lips parted, and dove into her. She cried out with a sound that was half gasp and half moan, a sound that set his blood afire.

She clung to him, the scrap of a shift she wore wet and crumpled against his skin. Her hand skated over his arm, her fingers digging into his bicep as she tried to pull herself even closer, to press their bodies together. Her mouth opened for him, and she kissed him back with just as much fury and desperation, urging him for more.

She tasted of honey, and of salvation. His mind was fogged with the feeling of her against him and the smoothness of her perfect skin under his fingers. He had dreamed of her a thousand times and chased the wisps of dream away when he woke, hoping to chase the temptation with it, but he had never envisioned this, clinging together in the middle of a woodland stream, bodies wet and slippery with the water, throwing caution to the wind without a care.

Desire burned dangerously within him, and he knew, as he had known every time before that they should stop. That they _had_ to stop. But he was not ready to heed that voice of reason.

Instead, he lifted her from the water with one strong arm. She wrapped her legs around his waist tightly, pressing against him provocatively and causing him to let out a strangled moan. His hand skimmed her thigh, left bare where her shift had ridden up, and he reveled in the audacity of it.

He carried her to the nearest rock, which jutted out of the water at a low angle. She pressed against him with every step, torture and perfection at once. He laid her on the rock, crowded her against it with his body, careful not to crush her. He let his lips move from hers to wander, pressing kisses along her neck to her collarbone and laving the hollow there with his tongue, collecting the droplets of water that had pooled there and drinking them down. She arched against him and he had to close his eyes, willing that he not make a fool of himself. Her hands traced over his arms, across his chest, then down his sides, skimming over the taught muscles of his abdomen and the dip that started at the curve of his hip, causing him to utter his silent prayer again.

He brought his lips to hers again, kissing her more slowly this time, but thoroughly, as though he could touch her soul. His hands moved over her shift, teasing, careful even now not to take liberties by touching her breasts, tantalizing though they were now that he could see her nipples tightened with arousal and the shadow of her areolae through the white fabric made sheer by the water. It was she who made that move, taking his hand and moving it to cup her breast, granting him a permission he had not even dared to ask. He brushed his thumb hesitantly over the tightened bud and was rewarded with a shiver of pleasure from her. She was innocent but aware, and he found the combination oddly arousing. She met his eyes boldly, looking up at him with absolute trust.

“I won’t ask you to stop,” she whispered, echoing the words she had uttered the night after her coronation. It was those words that caused him to step back and realize what they were doing, where this might have headed.

“That is why I must.” He said gravely, attempting to regain control of his libido. The task was complicated by the fact that he could not help but kiss her again, even after making his pronouncement.

“Why?” she demanded, clearly frustrated.

“Because I am not a monster.” He explained, shifting so that he sat beside her rather than pinning her to the rock. “I am not the sort of man to take something so valuable from a woman on a rock in the middle of a stream where any passerby can stumble upon the act.” He shook his head, his voice softening. “The first time should be done properly, privately, preferably in a bed, where proper time can be taken so that it isn’t rushed and hurried. And,” he admitted uncomfortably, “It is preferable also that it be the sacred consummation between man and wife. There is a deeper meaning to it then.”

She nodded slowly, but he did not think she agreed with him. Nonetheless, he slid back into the water, holding out his hand.

“Come. I can carry you to shore,” he offered. She shook her head.

“I can walk,” she said quietly, sliding into the water with quiet dignity and heading for the bank where they had abandoned their clothes. With a sigh he followed her, snatching up his clothes and striding into the trees to change. He had a nagging feeling that this would not be the end of the conversation.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For the record guys? I now know WAY more than I had ever anticipated knowing about historical undergarments. Which seems significant, considering that I was a history major.


End file.
